


The Power of Touch

by fullofshame



Series: Blessed Glory [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Coming Untouched, Complicated Relationships, Corporal Punishment, Dehumanization, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, Half-Human, Humiliation, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Micropenis, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Premature Ejaculation, Psychic Abilities, Royalty, Science Fiction, Sensation Play, Small Penis, Touching, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Writing on Skin, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 15:21:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15537147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofshame/pseuds/fullofshame
Summary: Emperor is taken care of by his dearest subject. It is almost healthy.





	The Power of Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! First off warning, story contains slavery, mentions of horrible class system and similar things. I don't condone those things, and aim to show it for awful disgusting thing that harms character. It also contains references to awful punishments and revenges. Please stay safe.  
> This one is softer then usual, and doesn't really have sex, but still I think there is enough nsfw.

The wraith attacks.

Slave Number 3768091 backs down as white fist reaches for him, dancing away from vicious spirit as it lounges at him, trampling flowers beneath it’s feet, turning them in dust.  The blank, faceless black head turns towards him, and his head is gripped  under assault of those primal instincts, sharp and painful as blade bathed in fresh blood, hot with rage and _Kill Destroy Consume Take Prey._

The wraith stumbles as it follows him, as if it hasn’t ever learned to walk, while he runs and jumps, toes barely touching ground, twisting and twirling his body to avoid contact. _Tired Hungry Afraid Weak Fail Soon_ and hunger, pride of wraith consumes him, makes him want to gloat and put teeth in it but he must wait, and when it finally gets close enough, when it’s reserves of energy are almost wholly run out, it reaches for him, grasping fingers open and hand shaking...

And finds itself pierced by translucent blade growing from his palm. For moment it whines, as it’s form glitches like broken screen, and disappears, cleansed and diminished into nothing but pure energy, as he retracts solidified aether inside himself, even as it stings through wound it makes on his palm.

The corpse of squirrel it used to manifest corporeal form falls down, white  bones covered by dried blood and black mucus whereas but hours ago it was joyfully living. He knelt down and took her in hand, feeling shade trapped inside, soul whose mind has been broken, whose spiritual power was extracted by wraith possessing it, nothing but screams and darkness inside it, and tainted magic of that wicked thing.

_How pleasant_. He thinks, and slaps himself for it moment after. Pain of others is never good thing, even when it finally brings some quiet to his mind (he could live in world like that, where everybody was lost and wasted, filled with darkness and quiet shrieks, much easier then one full of joy and happiness). With thought, he dispels armor over his palm, and lets blood  from wound his spirit weapon crafted, lets it flow over and wash the corpse.

_From me for you, a sacrifice willingly given, gift  freely offered_. So blood flows, and so does his qi, and his aether. The soul inside drinks up offering, aether for aether, qi for trauma, blood for miasma. He guides process, shapes her back in her normal state, weaving aether inside it, patching up what was lost and ruined, banishing miasma until soul was whole and same as before.

Immediately his mind was assaulted by barrage of thoughts (though none shaped in words), feelings, emotions and urges and impulses, each like burning arrow fired in middle of his skull, ecstasy and gratitude, worry and anger battling each other inside squirrel.

_I’m sorry_ he sent  her, not words but meaning, emotion, as he let power inside him flow and reach out, flow like river and carry her to beyond, so she could take journey they all must undertake someday, so she might come back in another life, perhaps another form too.

**Too soft, wasteful, coddling weak things** ,  Death grumbles, hanging in air, seeping in ground, as white as bones covered by snow, as black as dark between stars, holding  cut life threads of squirrel, and bugs stepped on, and soldiers fallen in this mission, and bobcat wraiths took, and frog, and lost child, and flowers and and....

**Why are you still here, wasting your time, they are looking for you** , and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t snap because goddesses are dangerous bunch and She is highest among them, and easiest to anger, but She knows, of course, She is his cells withering, She is wound bleeding, collar around his neck, every ugly and hateful though inside his head, the minds of others invading his own.

‘’There is work here to do.’’ He says, in way all things must know, and earth and air thrum in agreement, and spirits of trees exit, tall and tiny, smelling of withering fruits and blooming flowers, branches for hands and leaves for hair, shining resin eyes staring wide and wet at him, ghosts of bugs crawling through them, and he nods and smiles even as  death, darkness, pain grumbles and roars, and he reaches out with closed eyes.

His souls swells and flows over trees, through air, inside earth, and it feels Contagion, feels tainted aether of wraiths flowing like poison inside nature, rooting itself deeper and deeper, draining them, waiting for moment to bring them to death, to render it to wasteland and devour all these souls and make slaves out of whatever pitiful thing remains, and that can’t stand, he won’t allow that.

It fights him, but he is flame feeding itself on obstacles, he is wind carrying ill away, he is rock crushing wickedness to pieces, he is lighting sending it screaming and shaking, he is water eroding away evil, he is balance righting scales, he is death destroying enemy, he is life growing from ashes, and he chases out taint, purifies it, dispels it into powerless energy, lets particles holding no power or intention or allegiance or memory be blown away by wind, even as it tries to bite him, for he strangles it

The air and earth sigh and he is filled with pride, not that horrible bloated arrogance or unnecessary foreign self-appreciation, but pride of mother, of friend, congratulations that tug smile at his mouth.

**Bah, too merciful, took too long** death says, quieter, for Her hold is now weaker, and She lowers her ever hungry shears, but they don’t stop working, for there are bugs crushed by armored boots, there are cells disappearing and bacteries dying each moment, and there is too much life in world for Her to ever rest, but here and now She only remains in small things failing, and memory, and blood he holds out as offering before it coagulates as She scoffs but accepts and **grumbles  Just simple murder, squealing pig or begging dog, maybe some baby, is it too much to ask for, wretched brat**.

_Where are damned things, what are they doing, have we lost some, hope so, no use at all, but if they are broken we will need to wait till new ones are functional, why can’t we stay home, too much sun and branches, I like my sweet home  why do we need outside_ reaches his mind from afar, and he feels each step man takes, sees his purple bed and ancient swords he keeps as collection, and feels buzz of irritation as he gestures to spirits.

‘’ They are coming. I’’ll try to hide you.’’ And spirits nod and retract in their trees, process looking like growth of branch but in reverse, spirits melding in bark and leaves. He wraps his energy around trees, lets it sink in and feed spirits, and then he moves his hands, shapes and carves and sings in being a spell to fool, to misdirect.

Humans can’t see or hear spirits. But people like him, mages and sorcerers and priests and shamans can, and they can craft tools by which humans might detect or sense spirits. But there are ways to fool them, he knows-every soul in world sings, has it’s own rhythm and signature, and you just needs to dress inhabited trees in cover of energy and set them up to send out same signature as surrounding trees...

So far away from temples and libraries where most of them are imprisoned, he forgets it is supposed to be advanced technique.

Stone flies towards him, and though he knows that he doesn’t move, but only turn around as manager of his unit chuckles and makes him choke on man’s disgust. He turns, and such bitter rage, like peppers thrown in rage, for existing in same space as him.

‘’What’s that? Some malfunction? We’’ll have it broken for that.’’ He murmurs to himself, watching slave’s hand, who dispels his armor, and there is flash of fear, manager jumping away in fear, and even if he was shot by panicking human he would be glad, for surprise and wide white eyes and trembling lips when man sees his face, neutral and uncaring, and so human and ordinary.

‘’I was just dispelling my armor, as is protocol, sir.’’ And there is flash of pure fear, of instinctual need to flee, because here is Defective, here is Liminal who can talk and understand like mortal, weapon that gained sentience but is too good to dispose of.

‘’Yes, you will be whipped for it. You should have done sooner. Are all threats eliminated.’’ He asks, and slave nods. Voice is privilege he was given, and should he use it too much he will have to learn to eat without tongue.

‘’Hmmm.’’ He pulls out device, searching for signs of spirit activity, and finds nothing-device wouldn’t have detected impurity in land, but it would have detected tree spirits, because all things not human are enemies but consequences of fights and destroyed forests aren’t problems, are in fact welcome.

‘’Did you see any weird scratching around here? Any  Old People’s nonsenses. there were reports of elves and avians being seen here.’’ Slave shakes head, and bitterness pools through him, anger roused and burning in his very bones, chaotic desire to choke and smash his own face over ground again and again, shame at fact that he, a proud warrior and leader, is lowered to such depths that he speaks with Liminal of all things, _and oh if only tracker wouldn’t alert of property theft I would have taken it and slowly diassembled it for this humiliation, i will need purifying bath to wash miasma afterwards._

‘’We lost some of your production line today. You are to carry and recycle leftovers, and help with delivery of new products in three days. Do you get it?’’ Man speaks, in slow and overly accentuated fashion, and slave nods.

‘’I have no skills at midwifery.’’ Confusion shrouds them, as if sky has fallen, as manager arches his eyebrow.

‘’Um...And why is that relevant to me?’’ He asks, and slave sees himself, kneeling and beaten and bleeding.

‘’For arrival of newest Liminals.’’ And understanding blinks, and then there is struggle of rage and amusement, too magnets pushing away each others before manager loudly scoffs.

‘’You are not assisting with birth, you are delivering newest additions. You aren’t born, you are made.’’ _Of course. Learns to parrot words and immediately thinks it is person_. With that manager turned towards direction he came from and slave followed him.

_He is right.  Mages are never born. We choose ourselves_. He thinks as they leave, letters of language older then humanity, which none in Empire know, wiped away , scrubbed by magic from rock where moments ago  his foot stood.

_Thanks_ , came in his mind, from elves sheltered below, as tree roots spoke to them.

* * *

 

‘’You are lateeee.’’ Emperor whines, voice so high pitched it resembles scratching of marble, jumping up and down on his bed, notebook next to him. Slave didn’t pay attention to it, looking at Emperor’s  knees, just as he didn’t pay attention to whip marks at his back. But he walks straight and stoic, calm, even as lashes on his back glare crimson and wide.

‘’I apologize, Your Radiant Majesty. I made minor misconduct today, so I had to be punished after mission.’’ _Oooo, somebody’s been bad_.  He lowers himself down, gathers trash lying around at floor, various offering and tributes Emperor received today, jewelry and  weapons he seemed curious about at moment, inventions and armors that caught his eye for moment.

‘’Does it itch?’’ _Ugh, such nasty scratches_.  Pain was still there, like needles dug in flesh, like meat slowly grinded away, cleaved from bone, blood vessels snapping each second, but he didn’t shudder or whimper as he gathered diamonds in his hands.

‘’No, not at all.’’ _Goo, he’s ok._ His relief is like that of man who has been annoyed by fly for less then half hour finally hitting it. Slave is far away, relatively speaking, as he puts tributes on desks and chairs, tables and sofas, and it is easy to lose sense of distance in this giant room, where there are mirrors instead of walls, yet his ears jump up as Emperor speaks.

‘’Wanna get back at them?’’  It just flies out of Emperor’s mouth, like river flowing no matter what obstacle stands against it, as casual as air is light. Slave stops, something chill spreading through spine, thinking of manager and whipper and agent who led him there on knees, screaming, begging as whip hits and blood flies, maybe even more, maybe some lovely undignified execution.

‘’No need for it, most gracious Emperor. It was my fault. Thank you for your undeserved generosity.’’ He thinks of news that would spread were it to become known, of all fools who would track each of his steps, of manager’s collection of old swords, of rats whipper feeds, of clerk’s sick mother...

Of trouble Emperor would get from his three siblings.

‘’Hah! You’re really sweetest ever. Come here!’’  The boredom grows, a hole of ennui and impatience, a gap inside his mind that is fragile and gray and easily irritated, and just as natural and casual offer of revenge was, so is order.

The slave draws near to Emperor, who takes notebook and opens it, and slave keeps face reasonably calm yet ashamed face, while waiting for Emperor to find pages he is thinking of.

( _Paper is rare these days, not that it stops Empire from cutting down trees, but it isn’t treasured commodity, something for eccentric nobles to use to flaunt wealth, for it is in past and only things worth remembering are faces of nobility and war victories._

_They take him, Common Property, Etherically Sensitive, defective Liminal,  and order him to calculate their taxes. And because he is so low of being, he isn’t allowed tablets or holographic interfaces, just paper and quill and ink. Slaves aren’t paid, but slowest one will have it’s palm cut off._

_He finishes first, and with numb, aching fingers steals piece of paper, and in darkness starts drawing with charcoal_ ).

‘’What’s this?’’ Emperor asks, curiosity alight and buzzing, like candle flame shining against dark, waiting for chance to become pyre, as he shows slave two drawings he didn’t ask for. Slave glances over realistic sketches, over sleek white fox with nine tails, golden eyes tearing in him, and purple, vaguely humanoid beast with tusks  and red skin sitting crouched, face exhausted, almost falling over, covered in blood.

‘’Those are some spirits from my-from my prior settlement.’’ Not homeland-home is what your masters order you to be, where you are stationed, and besides homeland is place you like for more then it’s trees and winds, that you like for people and culture- and there is no such thing in trash and streets and glares of passerbys.

‘’Really? What are they?’’ Emperor asks, and whole time he watches drawings, drags his finger above whiskers and fur, above tusks and blood, fascination rooted deep and wide inside him, some sort of trepidation, butterfly flailing on wind.

‘’ The fox is kitsune, spirit created from ghost of fox that has grown in power and wisdom over centuries. They have many powers, but illusion and shapeshifting are most most common.  Older fox, more tails it has, nine being biggest number.That particular fox is a minor deity from region I was stationed at, called Kuzunoha.’’ He explained.

‘’’Hmm. Ever seen it?’’ Emperor asked.

‘’Kitsune? Yes, I have. Kuzunoha herself no. She has been gone for centuries.’’ He explained.

‘’Which means she wasn’t necessary anymore, right? Bigger gods pulled her away for punishment or something like that.’’ Slave nods and bites his tongue. _And he thinks himself beloved by gods._

‘’This thing here is an oni, often violent and bothersome form of malicious spirits. I saw it once in demon cage, years ago.’’ It was so tired, so broken and aching that it was mercy to slit it apart.

‘’Hmmm, fun. Didn’t know you were so nostalgic.’’ Fascination is still there, but it can quickly turn to rage, to indignation, so soon slave speaks, though he shouldn’t open mouth unless it is demanded from him, though he should kiss Emperor’s feet in gratitude for laying eyes on him.

‘’It caught up onto me. It has been very long since then, and I wanted to practice my skills. I’m sorry for wasting your time, and sullying your property with my nonsenses.’’ he speaks out.

‘’Nope, I like it. Looks strange but it’s nice to know what sort of things stalk people when we can’t see them.  Also, I like it when you draw other stuff then us and our palaces.’’ _Real good_ , and he looks over flowers, over hares, over constellations drawn inside pages, wide smile on face, pride on discovering something like this in such lowly creature, and slave is almost, almost willing to tear out his heart just for eternity here, with this man and his simple, honest mind.

‘’Thank you very much.’’ He says, and then they share thought, calculating all breaches of conducts  made, starting with _didn’t crawl in your presence_ and ending with _no Your Radiant Majesty_ after every third word.

‘’And what’s this?’’ Emperor raises some orb, and presses gem on top of it, and orb is filled with thousands upon thousands of tiny colorful sparkles dancing over glass, appearing and  dissolving in matter of seconds, filling room with soft, capricious shine. The spells in it make his skin itch with need to hold it, to see each part of it, to analyze them for hours.

‘’Ah. That is some very good aetheric manipulation. Illusion, showing what aetherian who made it saw. This orb was filled for hours with sprites, then aetherian crafted illusion of everything he saw in following hours, and set spell to randomly produce certain parts of it together, so there would be many combinations. Very complicated and lovely work.’’ Emperor scoffs, and he can feel boredom come again, suffocating him.

‘’And what’s a sprite?’’ He asks, and there is twinge of fear, just a moment of unease at mention of spirits.

‘’A simplest form of spirit that exists, essentially minor particle of aether.  They are like microbes of spirit world, possessing no power or intelligence, and so weak that they are invisible even to strongest aetherian. Each of those sparkles is composed of around ten thousand sprites, and their united power allows them to produce light for few seconds before they fade out. Capturing  so many is incredible. This spells likely took months to craft even without  counting in process of catching and sealing sprites. ’’ He would like to meet mage responsible for it.  Probably one of big old families, with libraries full of forgotten spells.  He’d like to read them. And punch mage for what they did to sprites. Still, it is incredible work.

But Emperor frowns and throws lamp away, and slave remains stoic as it crashes, as unraveling of spell tears across his bones.

‘’So useless. I will have to tell my nobles to find better things to use their spiritual consulters for. Also, I’m pretty sure you could do it in seconds. ‘ _’Right?_ And pride once again fills him as slave’s arms fill with shine of billions upon billions sprites dancing.

‘’Great! Now let us go, I need to bathe.’’ And at this slave smirked, and hoisted Emperor up, holding him in bridal carry as he listed off to himself all ways of execution he would be subjected to for touching holiest of all men when he was a filthy commoner son of whore, disgusting mage, lowly slave, abhorrent Liminal.

‘’You mean, you need to be bathed?’’ He flashed grin at boy, who pouted and flushed bright red, and slave felt his skin simmer and shine with heat of boy’s embarrassment and desire.

‘’You are being cheeky.’’ _He is so hot like this_. Attraction made his bones feel like they were turning in jelly, the beautiful warmth spreading through his  guts, places where their bodies connected feeling sinuous and blessed, giddiness building up at sight of two of them  walking through halls and corridors, doors opening when they detected Emperor’s presence (it took lot of fiddling to change system so that it wouldn’t raise alarm whenever they brushed against each other, and transport entire army to behead him for his sin, but Slave Number 3768091 was always resourceful).

‘’I am sorry if it is how it came across, but I didn’t mean it in that sense. I just meant that obviously I will be one bathing you, since such banal tasks are so far above one such as yourself, Your Radiant Majesty.’’ _Ah, oh, of course_. Embarrassment kicked deeper in, drop by drop, like rainwater leaking through roof.

‘’There is no need for that, ya know? Just Ricegrain is ok.’’ The boy whispered, and slave’s mind was filled with images of  boy pressing his head in his shoulder, rubbing his face in his neck, but was held back by rigid chains of protocol and pride. Slave remained silent for some moments.

‘’Thanks, Ricegrain.’’ He finally whispered, lips wobbling as he spoke it out, as he was filled with  desire to arch his neck so boy could smell it.

There was tension inside him, like tide hitting, raging against dam, a hot oil spreading itself beneath his skin, electric impulses hitting randomly, aching breaths and whimpers  barely held behind mouth, boy squirming in his grasp like eels, trying to thrust against his fingers.

‘’Try to last at least  hour this time. If you do,  you will get nice reward.’’ _Does he mean... Oh yes  yes please please_ memory rose in slave’s head, of half year ago, boy jumping and thrusting and drooling as thick cock pierced him, boy hungrily bouncing and whining and crying into pillow.

Finally they arrived to bathroom, which was  wider then any slave saw, and to be honest was actually giant pool in which hundreds could be put (and it was one of smaller ones, extremely old and private), with lines upon lines of shelves full of various balms and bathing powders and shampoos and machines for scrubbing skin.

The water was lukewarm, always held at perfect temperature by heating system that used up enough energy to fuel entire cities.  It was also very shallow,  such that it didn’t come up to knees.

_Ugh, water_. Different sort of shudder passed boy, subtler but harder and colder, alongside of memory of raging rivers and seas. Slave held him bit closer, more secure, until he relaxed.

Such sweetie, so smart.

Softly he put boy down onto one of sofas arranged around pool, and hoisted his legs up, bending them at knees, as boy pouted and closed eyes and hid flash of indignation that felt like squeak of mouse, or tail of snake being stepped on, and fought against raging tension inside him.

‘’Come on baby, do it for me.’’ Impossible, I’m gonna, he isn’t even wearing gloves oh gods, boy thought as slave pulled off his boots and clothes, neatly putting them on side, before taking out stuffed socks and scarfs from underwear.

Boy’s legs were widely set apart, twitching and bent at knee, and his hole was wide and loose, perfectly clean, pink and inviting, begging to be filled, while his torso and legs were covered in writing, various versions of **Bratty bitch** and **Free hole** and **Please fuck me** and **Cock slut** and **Cum addict** and **Baby peen**.

‘’Which smells do you want?’’ He asked, squinting and twisting head to catch sight of  boy’s ‘’penis’’-or what passed for it anyway. A sad, thin shaftless nub that was measured in milimetres, hot pink and aching as if coal was rubbed against it, as boy scratched himself by rubbing his back over sofa, it wasn’t cumming still, which was in context almost impressive.

‘’Hmmmm..ah... umh... dark chocolate and deer musk and black wine..’’ Slave got up, searched over twenty shelves, found  over thirty variations of each of those smells (and remembered whenever he was borrowed to be used in their fabrics, as trash collector, or to mix products, or pick grapes) and finally grabbed ones which seemed newest, then carried boy to water.

‘’Ugh.’’ I hate this. He thought as he plopped down, shuddering from where water touched him, but cleaning droid remained inactive in corner, and waterless cleaning capsules on shelves as  slave stepped inside, water soaking in his torn pants, his long tangled hair, telling him of rains that fell far away, of ice capes melting, of poisoned clouds, of blood that flowed through his veins and father, of oils kept inside glass bottles on shelves, of fishes in ocean, and old gods beneath it.

Slave  sat down on his knees, letting water soak him up almost till hips, and looked down at boy, as he rubbed  chocolate paste over boy’s shoulders, stomach, his inverted nipples _( remembering first time he tried it, the best of best, how Emperor invited him after feast for his judges and gave him plate full of  leftovers, and child that slept in trash, child born because his mother was too poor, child that ruined her gobbled itself on it, despite law proclaiming that slave who touched food of nobility is to be dismembered_ ), putting musk bat bomb in water for it to dissolve ( _once, in one similar fabric, which made products for warrior caste, not royalty, he touched one accidentally. They broke his arms and had other slaves beat him. That night he stopped casting spells for protection, praying to Lady Luck, and owner’s little brother who laughed and threw mud at him rolled down stairs and broke neck, and slave who stamped over his broken fingers while calling his mother awful bitch miscarried_ ).

He poured the shampoo, clear and cool, red-black and almost translucent, all over his gangly, unseemly fingers with their scars and broken nails, and started rubbing  all over boy’s black and purple hair, watching white soap form as he rubbed it in scalp with soft, circular movements, massaging his head, caressing beautiful, well tended locks, as each of his touches seemed to send hot rod of pleasure and shame  in boy’s body, as he became putty and clay in slave’s hands, shaking and wiggling, curling toes and clenching fingers, bobbing head up and down, biting lips as slave spread soap over his head, shaking shoulders until finally... _AAAAAH OH MY OH NO UGHH MHHHHMH SO SO GOOD_

‘’Twenty seven minutes.’’ Sir called out, watching at drop of semen that managed to fall  out of tiny ‘’boyhood’’ into water, ‘’dick’’ no longer erect ( he wasn’t grower, but shower, ostensibly, though down there wasn’t much to see unless you had zooming camera and were currently at comedy performance or freak shows royalty liked to watch, where  slave was shown at least once every three months).

‘’I-I am sorry, sir.’’ _What will be my punishment_ , as tears collected in his eyes and face turned bright tomato red.

‘’Sssssh. No need for that, Ricegrain. You tried this time at least. Punishment shouldn’t be given out for inability, or mistake, but refusal and deliberate sabotage.’’ He whispered to boy, holding him in his hands, much stronger though not nearly  so finely shaped, and petting boy and wiping away his tears.

‘’Come now. Let us finish bath. And hey, you established new record.’’ He said as he washed boy, who went from staring down **Puny dicklette** and **Desperate cocksucker** on his torso and his own tiny, pathetic form in mirrors, and brightened up at newest information, even as sir touched him again, seeming to replace material filth with dirty sin of breaching protocol.

He came twice more, once during washing, and once during drying, and sir put him on sofa.

‘’Wait here. I have to take preventives.’’ Oh no, stop  flashed through boy’s mind as sir already left, departing for chambers where they kept medicines and other stuff of such nature, which was more or less his given how much he worked there.

It was quick work, since he already had everything ready, given how necessary it was. Some herbs, some pills, all carefully chosen to boost each other and not produce side effects, quick spell and everything was ready. On the way he got some new clothes

When he came back to bathroom, he was hit with wave of shame, as if whole room was drenched in acrid smoke. Boy was laying on sofa, face down in pillows so he wouldn’t see how red it is.

‘’How much?’’ Image of boy ‘’jerking off’ by rubbing pad of his pinkie against his tiny member,  miniature drop spilling each time.

‘’T-twice. I was thinking about what reward I could have gotten, and it came on it’s own, then I wanted to jerk off last time, and well..’’ It earns him two smacks with towel, one on each cheek.  He comes and yowls.

‘’Please sir, please, I...’’ He stops, as sir gives him glass of anaphrodisiac to drink, which he does even as he gulps, then squirms as sir rubs cool, itchy cream over his member.

‘’Sir, can you at least give me something else?  You could also relieve yourself, maybe you could feed me, you haven’t used my throat so long, or finger me, or get me plug or vibrator, or at least jerk off over me...’’ He goes quieter and quieter as he sees sir’s face remain impassive, hears no voice, watches sir’s hard on grow flaccid but still _so big, he is whore’s son of course he knows such stuff, even whores have better control then me, how will I survive six months without getting hard..._

_He will fall asleep soon, it would just hurt him_ slave thinks.

‘’ Here, let me clothes you.’’ _Well, at least it’s not full clothes, but couldn’t have expected anything more_ boy grumbles  as sir puts socks, tank top and boxers on him, and stares down at his crotch, hanging wholly empty, sliding down as he tries to stand.

‘’Um, how am I..’’ He says and stops to squeak, boxers sliding down from his hips.

‘’They are meant for thirteen year olds.’’ Sir says, and boy grumbles and hangs his head, watching **Baby boy** and **Prissy slut** and **Jeez obsessed** down his shirt.

‘’Here, I will carry you. Jump on, Ricegrain’’ Sir says, lowering himself, and boy giggles and jumps at his back, and sir piggy-back carries him to his bedroom, one of them anyway.

‘’Hey, you think you could draw me surrounded by red and white roses?’’ Boy asks once he is deposited on bed.

‘’Of course.’’ Says sir, smiling, taking notebook and ruffling his hair as he flushes red hot.

The collar around his neck is cold, and whip marks on his back sting.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a note: aether is spiritual energy that mages and spirits use for magic. Mages are known as Etherically Sensitive or aetherians among Empire by those who aren't ones, so regular humans. Of course, mages have many names for themselves, and even under Empire's domination, culture of world's various nations still survives even if it changes bit.


End file.
